


I'd love to change the world

by oh_my_gucci



Series: BTS Playlist [1]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Art, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, Friendship, M/M, Murder Mystery, Paranoia, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24397675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_my_gucci/pseuds/oh_my_gucci
Summary: For each BTS member, a song that reminds me of them.Namjoon - I'd love to change the worldhttps://open.spotify.com/track/6ce17pZwsMcYNab5IaC5MQ?si=9UCdbMLiRXOi0mRacm7BFg
Relationships: Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Taehyung | V, Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga, Kim Seokjin | Jin/Min Yoongi | Suga
Series: BTS Playlist [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761721
Kudos: 1





	1. Part 1

Detective Jeon Jungkook tasted a bitter coffee as he looked attentively to the crime scene. He was pretty sure the placement of the body meant to recreate some old painting, he couldn’t remember the name then. However, he was positively sure that the scene reminded him of something. After been awake for three days straight, Jungkook lacked clear judgment, and the caffeine race did him poorly. 

Though the picture was beautiful, it bothered Jungkook to his guts. The deceased was a senior man, probably in his mid-seventies, no more than that. He was lying on white cotton that matched perfectly the sleeping gal he was wearing. It looked like he was peacefully sleeping, the image of death was oddly beautiful, magnetizing even. Jungkook had never felt like describing a crime scene as a work of art before, yet the new wave of murders that started months ago changed his mind. However, there he was, treasuring the macabre and memorizing the details like he was studying fine arts in the museum. If it weren’t something so despicably cruel, Jungkook would have appreciated it more.

Jungkook leaned forward, getting closer to the body yet distant enough to not disturb the team that was collecting evidence. He looked attentively, vaguely hoping that something, anything gave him a direction but judging at the evidence team looks, he was in a dead-end still. That was the seventh body since the bizarre killings have started. Despite all the loveliness of the figure in front of him, Jungkook was indeed desperate for answers. The author was so meticulously clean, neat, and perfect that absolutely nothing gave them out.

Too many dead bodies and too many questions were putting incredible pressure upon his shoulders. The former crime scenes had no valid physical evidence, no witnesses. They had nothing except the odd circumstances: coping art, painting, sculptures. Too many questions were coming from dead bodies, which put incredible pressure upon his shoulders. 

It was a chilling Thursday morning when the cotton eventually merged with the snow, turning the whole scenario to the closest Jungkook had seen of ethereal. He had never been a believer, but at that moment, between his despair and the wind blow, he whispered a pray. It felt appropriate and right. If he couldn’t do anything for those poor souls, maybe the divine would. 

It didn’t take long before Jungkook was abruptly interrupted by erratic steps coming to his direction. Running late was a bad habit of Park Jimin, which also meant unfortunate circumstances for someone else, including more than insults and bruised lips. Jungkook came to learn that in the most terrible way possible, and he knew better: it had happened before and other times before that.

Especially on that Thursday, Jungkook decided it was finally enough. No brotherhood between fellow police enforcement could stop him from speaking his heart.

"You have to stop this, Jimin.”

“You know me, I’m always late!”

“Seriously?” Jungkook looked to the sides, then whispered. “She called to the precinct again. I filed a complaint last night, but it was gone this morning. Care to explain how it magically disappeared? Again?”

Jimin rolled his eyes, waving his hand to dismiss Jungkook. “It wasn’t a big deal, she’s overdramatic. I swear it was nothing. I got angry with that ‘friend’ of hers. I’m protective, have always been, you know me.”

Jungkook turned his attention to the body once again. 

“I can’t have another body, Jimin. There’s too many already, so please be a decent man.”

Back to the precinct, several red strips linked pictures to documents, forming a complex net of theories and possibilities. However, Jungkook didn’t have the most important connections, the ones he had desperately been looking for the past months: what the victims had in common? He knew that, as soon as he got them, finding the murderer would be just a question of time. He tried as hard as he could, but nothing remotely made sense. They were poor, which wasn't reason enough for murder, half of the city was too.

"Jimin, I think we're missing the obvious here..."


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mention of self-harm; internalized homophobia

It was long gone by then the time of caressing scars. Namjoon had been cherishing the last ones with too much enthusiasm. He scratched the scabs of his latest self-injury to the bleeding once more. He felt empty still. Empty. Empty. When he was in silence, he could hear the dribbling of depression inside him, a one-note-type of a sad song. 

The state of numbness was only disturbed by insistent angst, that magnified his misery, he could feel it crawling under his skin, claiming him, urging him to commit the most despicable acts. Lately, everything was misery to him, and Namjoon knew already he was too deep lost in it. It became home to him, a place of comfort and love, despite the emptiness it had turned out to be.

However, in that state of mind, the excitement he craved for wasn’t the foolish happiness of tv commercials rather the fulfillment of a purpose. It was wrong, yet pleasant to him, the kind of feeling he couldn’t escape even if he tried to and the reason that kept him into bleeding and scratching his skin raw: the life of the act, the warmth of the blood, the pain of the injury. 

Namjoon could feel Yoongi’s eyes digging a hole into his scalp. He could feel the disappointment and the anger emanating from the oldest. Although he knew his actions were wrong, Namjoon was convinced he was also doing the good in the best way possible. Nothing in his life, until that very moment, had given him the quivering sensation of liveliness as much as when he handled those sorrowful bodies. Therefore, neither Yoongi’s judgment nor the dreadful nightmares would stop him from fulfilling what Namjoon considered his destiny. 

He wouldn’t say though that all the deaths didn’t come along with pinches of desperation. In some twisted way, he compared the privilege of saving those lives to orgasming. Life and death are as fleeting as the seconds one lays down in blissful ignorance, addicted to that dopey feeling, a realistic way Namjoon would describe the act of merciful murder.

Oh, he loved those people so much, he loved them until he couldn’t stand to see them suffering the cruelty of the world anymore. Every inch of him was desperate to dignify their lives by putting an end to the misery. He would love to change the world, but it’s doomed, and he didn't know what to do. Where’s sanity, where’s hope? He took the responsibility and the pain of doing the good. He didn’t like killing, but someone had to do it, and being selfless as he was, this was his role.

“I don’t know what to do, hyung. I don’t know how to save all those people. I’m so lost, I can’t stop hurting them. On the other hand, I can’t just leave it alone. Do you think they’re better now? I hope they are. You used to tell me this: if one wants to do good, one must pay the price. It is too high though. I feel like I'm the one hurting the most."

Namjoon wasn't expecting a proper answer. He felt Yoongi utterly upset about his actions for the past months, but talking to him calmed Namjoon, even if the image of his very grumpy face was scary.

“I know you’re angry but I need your advice on something. I'm conflicted about what I should do with my life. I’d love if Jin-hyung were here as well. He knew how to have these conversations better than you.". Namjoon took a deep breath before saying: "I met someone”. 

“I like him, I like him very much, hyung. He doesn’t know what I do, but I know he likes my art. He told me that one day, that he can see compassion and love on my doings. Did you hear that, hyung? He doesn't know I'm the author but he likes it!"

"How do you feel, Namjoon-ah?"

"Different. I'm questioning my purpose, if I could ever live denying my destiny or if I must give up this happiness."

Yoongi smiled, at least it is what Namjoon thinks he saw. 

“I didn’t know I could feel this way over a boy, hyung. It’s awkward how I blush when he’s close. I want to know everything about him, I wanna touch him so badly.”

Initially, Namjoon smiled gently, not aware of himself, but after confessing his feelings to Yoongi, his heart sank. He was picking scabs still, even if that meant not to stop bleeding.

“I wonder if that’s how you felt with Jin-hyung? I always thought your relationship was so natural, but now that I’m having these emotions towards Taehyung I feel dirty and unworthy, like my desire for him is wrong and that I am disgusting. I'm so sorry for saying that, I didn't know I'd feel this, but I do."

Namjoon watched Yoongi’s face grew longer. The moment Yoongi turned his gaze towards the floor, Namjoon immediately suspected that he started to whip. He was quieter than usual that day, actually, he was always this quiet after a new killing, Namjoon should know it wouldn't be different this time.

“Don’t cry, he’s in a better place, you know? I don’t believe in those things but I know it comforts you to think about him this way. I think of him often too. Taehyung reminds me of Jin-huyng, he helps me to control my pathetic necessity of  _ fixing.  _ He's also gentle and deep. I bet I wouldn't scrap these so much if he was around.” 

Namjooon kissed the injuries on his arms, then licking the blood out of his lips. He sat on the ground when a mix of tears and dust painted his cheeks and pressed against his chest. It took him to get up and change the dressing around his wrists, the old ones were smelling rot already. He felt the murderous agnst hovering above his head still, and cutting himself was the only way to soothe it. Bleeding remembered him the bodies he collected and he indulged gladly.


End file.
